this broken machine
by dazai-san
Summary: Goodnight, Dazai. (Warnings: LN spoilers, suicide, a bit of alcoholism.)


this broken machine

Goodnight, Dazai.

.

Life is different.

The days are hectic as usual, but subdued. Quiet.

 _Hollow._

Atsushi laughs. The sound is quiet as usual, but subdued. Bitter.

 _Hollow._

These days, the Agency is near silent. There isn't any complaining, any whining, any laughter, any requests of ramune, any demands to shut up. There is only the quiet rustle of papers being shuffled and passed, a quiet murmur of _please_ and _thank you_.

The railings on the top of the roof are very high, and the bars are just wide enough that Atsushi can reach through them. It doesn't really matter, since he could climb over them easily.

An autumn wind cuts straight through his clothing, biting viciously. He ignores it and instead stares straight down fearlessly. He wonders what Dazai thinks of a view like this.

"Atsushi," says Kyouka, her voice soft as usual. She sounds sad. When he turns, she looks worried and grieved. It's a look familiar on her face, but one that should never belong. "Let's go home."

"Okay," Atsushi replies, turning and taking her outstretched hand. It's smaller than his, familiar, and warm.

 _Atsushi-kun, I am not the only person anchoring you to this world._

.

Kunikida has ideals. He has routine. He has standards.

Visiting the riverbank has become part of his daily schedule.

Truth be told, it's the only part of his daily schedule he'll follow religiously now. Everything else is… well. As long as it works out.

During the evening, artificial lights from the bright city of Yokohama illuminate the water, shattering across the surface of the river. A faint gurgle and the distant sound of cars rushing by sooth his nerves, especially when he's had a bad day.

Laying on the lush green grass by the riverbank with a book, or maybe tea from the shop the Agency frequents, is nice. He brings a flashlight, because often it's too dark to read.

Life goes on as normal. The world around them keeps moving forward. The passerby on the street keep going about their daily business.

Kunikida should like it.

He hates it.

He turns another page in his book.

 _Kunikida-kun, take a break. You don't have to force yourself._

Too late.

.

Nobody takes it well.

Naomi doesn't either, and neither does he. Junichiro doesn't blame her, but he misses her enthusiastic and overly affectionate laughter and hugs and jokes.

Nights are spent in silence, staring up at the ceiling and never falling asleep. Getting up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom, or just to eat something. Waking up in the morning, tired and quiet and melancholy, and seeing the same expressions mirrored in the faces of everyone else.

Junichiro wonders if this is worse than the nights sobbing, crying, screaming. At least…

At least they seemed to feel something then. Now, it's just… they're all numb.

 _Hollow._

 _Tanizaki-kun, remember never to cross the line._

 _Naomi-chan, your brother is not the only person in the world._

Junichiro smiles humorlessly.

.

Ranpo wonders if suffering withdrawal symptoms from not drinking enough ramune is possible.

With a quiet sigh, he stares out of the window, back to the Agency. Everybody is working silently, and shards of ramune bottles have long since been cleared from the trashcans. His collection of marbles hasn't grown at all.

It's a beautiful view, Ranpo realizes.

Or, he thinks, maybe he just never took the time to appreciate it. (How sappy. It's like one of Yosano's disgusting romance novels. He'd rather read one of Edgar's mysteries any day.)

Today's newspaper is full of riddles and jokes and word searches and crosswords.

It lies, folded, on his lap. His pen rests on the desk behind him.

 _Ranpo-san, delusions will only carry you so far… but you knew that already, didn't you?_

Bastard.

His glasses are heavy in his pocket.

.

Days trickle by slowly. Or do they fly by swiftly? Kyouka doesn't know. She doesn't really care, either.

Everybody is mourning, hurting, and grieving, even if, to outsiders, it seems like a perfectly functional and normal workspace. And it is functional. It's kind of normal, but dealing with the supernatural can't warrant much "normality".

The machine called the "Armed Detective Agency" is functional. It does its job properly, and runs smoothly. But it's also broken, pieces missing here and there and there's a huge hole in it as well. It keeps running, somehow.

Kyouka keeps this analogy to herself. Everybody already knows what's missing. A reminder is unnecessary. It'll just escalate the inevitable.

Eventually, the machine will break down. The hole is large, and those small pieces missing are vital. But maybe once it does, it'll be fixed again, and life will return to "normal".

 _Kyouka-chan, you are allowed to live, and let nobody tell you otherwise._

Kyouka isn't certain it's worth living in this colorless world, but for Atsushi's sake, she'll keep going.

.

Akiko gets sick of the suffocating atmosphere in the Agency.

"We're in a real sorry state, aren't we?" she states out of the blue one day, sorting through her files. Akiko likes to think herself a strong person, but she doesn't dare look up from her work.

It goes quiet in the room except for her typing and shifting of files.

"Yeah," Kunikida says, quiet. "We are." Akiko says nothing more. She has nothing more to say.

There's the scuffle of a chair being pushed in, and the swing of the door opening and closing.

She just breathes.

 _Yosano-san, I am sorry. But try as you might, you cannot heal somebody's "heart". You will just have to offer them your own._

Akiko breathes.

.

Smiling is hard.

In theory, Kenji knows how to do it. He just curls his lips upwards, tilts his head bit.

But being happy is another requirement. Kenji isn't happy.

Nobody in the Agency is. Everybody simply goes about their day in a dreamlike state. It's silent, and rare are the times when somebody speaks.

There is an empty desk and an untouched couch in the room. Nobody has asked Kenji to move them, and if they did, he wouldn't do it. Nobody has been asked to clean it, in fear of tainting it.

 _Kenji-kun, smile only when you truly mean it._

Kenji wonders if he means it now.

.

Chuuya claims he's going to celebrate, and gets plastered. He thinks he might've sobbed for hours, but if he did, he has no clue, and there are no witnesses to it anyways.

Nobody was foolish enough to knock on _his_ door the entire week he didn't come out, especially after he broke a bottle of expensive wine over somebody's head while drunk.

The hangover the next morning had almost been worth forgetting for the night.

 _Chuuya, don't drink yourself to death. I don't want to see your stupid hat ever again._

He snorts, and pours himself another glass.

.

The room and training grounds are completely trashed.

Nothing new.

At the eye of this hurricane of violence is Akutagawa.

Nothing new.

Rashomon is has been exceptionally hungry this week.

That's what Akutagawa thinks, anyways. Or, more accurately, deludes himself into thinking.

He's been angry. Rage, simmering and slowly boiling, and channeling it through Rashomon in the training room, eating everything and creating more work the Agency, devouring jobs left and right in an unhealthy frenzy.

He barely hears Higuchi anymore.

 _Akutagawa, I am proud of you._

How come he isn't satisfied?

.

Mori doesn't get a letter.

He's fine with this. If it were him, he wouldn't give Dazai one, either.

He'll see him in hell, anyways.

.

Yukichi drinks tea and grieves silently.

There is a note sitting on his desk, a constant reminder of his failure.

 _President, thank you for giving me a chance to do good._

Not for the first time, Yukichi wishes the tea was poison.

.

Ango is surprised to receive a letter.

 _Ango, humor me, won't you?_

 _If you ever find my body, bury me next to Odasaku. You know where the grave is._

He honors Dazai's last wish.

.

Somewhere, there are a pair of gravestones.

Atsushi often comes to visit.

He brings flowers for both Dazai and this person called Oda Sakunosuke, and talks to thin air for hours. Kyouka will wait for him patiently.

Odasaku's grave has two frames resting against it. They're gathering dust again. Gently, Atsushi brushes it off, and inspects the first frame, as he always does.

It's a photo of three young men. Dazai, Ango, and a third that Atsushi assumes to be Odasaku. They look… happy. With a sad smile, Atsushi knows Dazai has never shown anything like this before to them.

He sets the frame back down, reaching for the second one. It's one of many of Dazai's suicide notes, and the only addressed to a dead man.

 _Odasaku,_

 _Have I done well?_

 _Well, it doesn't matter, does it? I would say "see you soon", but unfortunately we're ultimately headed in two opposite directions._

 _Goodnight, Odasaku. Rest in peace, my friend._

.

And ok im done

Not even gonna proofread this shit

Please tell me if you enjoyed? Thank you :D means a lot to me

BTW FINALLY READ THE LIGHT NOVEL AND SCREAMS IT HURTS SO GOOD

Odasaku/Dazai is my new OTP FITE ME


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